


something like gravity

by i_love_your_light



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bisexual Sokka (Avatar), Character Study, College AU, Gay Zuko (Avatar), Light mentions of childhood trauma, M/M, Modern AU, Philosophical ramblings, Pining, They don't get together it's JUST yearning sorry, Yearning, the author is going through something
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28817583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_love_your_light/pseuds/i_love_your_light
Summary: Zuko wondered how the feeling in his chest at Sokka’s words could feel so pleasant and yet ache so much.  Yearning was a dual bladed feeling, he knew well, addicting in the way it acted as both burn and balm.  Sokka looked at him softly, dappled light through the leaves casting patterns over his warm complexion. It was simultaneously all too much and not nearly enough.Or, Zuko and Sokka skip class mid-fall to sit under a tree and wax poetic a bit.
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15





	something like gravity

The weather was slowly melting into fall. Oranges and yellows were creeping into the leaves, and a brisk breeze colored the air, but the residual rays of summer sun still fought through the chill.

Zuko and Sokka were sprawled out in a secluded corner of the campus quad, jackets open as they lounged in the grass. Their bellies were full of a hastily packed picnic Zuko had prepared after receiving a stressed text from Sokka that morning. The sandwiches had been slightly squished, and the rest of the food had just been various bags of snacks that Zuko had swiped from the campus market, but Sokka had reacted to the surprise lunch like it was a gourmet buffet. Always finding the joy and wonder in the simple things, despite his sometimes pessimistic exterior.

(“Look, I’m just a realist,” he had said to Zuko in the library one night, textbooks long forgotten between them. “Life has good and bad parts and I talk about them both! Katara complains that I’m always too negative or whatever, but I say she just must not be paying attention when I’m being positive.”)

Zuko paid attention to anything Sokka said gladly, willingly, even when Sokka spouted off the most bizarre tangents and the cringiest jokes. Even when Sokka would work through complicated coding problems out loud that hurt Zuko’s head. Even when Sokka would complain about his love life.

Ok, the last one maybe wasn’t something that Zuko was necessarily glad to listen to. But he would listen, nodding along in what he hoped was an understanding way as Sokka sighed about _maybe I don’t even want to be dating right now_ and laughing good naturedly as Sokka made yet another quip about the dating options on campus being slim even as a bi person. It was good that Sokka trusted him with this, he reasoned with himself. It felt good to be trusted. But no matter how much he tried to convince himself it was fine, the longing ache in his chest begged to differ. 

Luckily the subject hadn’t come up yet that fall afternoon in the quad, and Zuko hoped it would stay that way. If they could just avoid the topic entirely, then Zuko could daydream that there was a future between the two of them that existed beyond platonic park hang-outs without feeling shame about it all.

Currently Sokka was wrapping up a ramble about a tv show that Zuko had never seen nor heard of, but apparently contained a multitude of plot holes that were unforgivable to Sokka. Zuko didn’t watch much tv (it had been mostly off-limits growing up until he moved in with Iroh) but he loved watching tv with Sokka. He loved any time spent with Sokka, would do anything with or for Sokka, gladly, willingly, like skipping class right now. The knowledge terrified him in part, knowing one text that said Sokka was stressed out was enough for Zuko to unhesitatingly restructure his whole day. But he wouldn’t rather be anywhere but here. Screw the looming midterms. This was more important.

Sokka was much more relaxed than he had been when they first met up, but there was still a furrow in his brow. He paused his ranting, mouth twisting a bit as he thought. Zuko waited patiently.

“Does skipping class this early in the semester make me a bad student?” Sokka sighed, shifting so that his back was pressed against the same tree that Zuko was leaning on, their shoulders brushing.

Zuko shrugged, staring out over the quad. “If it does, then I’m just as bad.”

Sokka’s head snapped towards him. “Holy shit, wait... you’re missing your shakespearean lit class right now? You love that class.”

Zuko just shrugged again. It was Zuko’s favorite class this semester, but Sokka was better company. He tried not to think about what it meant that Sokka had his class schedule memorized.

“That makes me _double bad_ ,” Sokka groaned, “Making you skip.”

“No,” Zuko said firmly, looking at Sokka finally, “Wanted to. You were stressed. You- You...needed…”

“I needed you,” Sokka finished, quietly. 

Zuko wondered how the feeling in his chest at Sokka’s words could feel so pleasant and yet ache so much. Yearning was a dual bladed feeling, he knew well, addicting in the way it acted as both burn and balm. Sokka looked at him softly, dappled light through the leaves casting patterns over his warm complexion. It was simultaneously all too much and not nearly enough.

“It’s no problem,” Zuko replied clumsily, cringing at himself internally. “It’s fine.”

“But Zuko-”

“Don’t worry about it, ok? I’d rather be here.”

To look at each other when they were seated like this meant their faces were quite close together, so close that Zuko could count the freckles that dusted the lovely wide ridge of Sokka’s nose. He hastily turned back to the lawn in front of them before he could do something stupid like kiss those freckles one by one.

“Tell me what’s up with Billy Shakes,” Sokka nudged Zuko, grin apparent in his tone. 

Zuko snickered and obliged, fumbling over his words as he described the class’s recent analysis of _Twelfth Night_. In direct contrast to Sokka’s proclivity to ramble, Zuko struggled with the concept of taking up space in conversation, having grown up in a household where one misstep in expression meant a blow up, not to mention a complete passivity to any of Zuko’s interests. It felt stupid to be nineteen and unsure of how to navigate something as simple as talking. More often than not, alarm bells would sound in his head- _Wrap it up! No one cares! Don’t say the wrong thing!_ But Sokka’s energy was never judgemental, or at least never judgemental in a way that held consequences. Sokka had strong opinions on music and video game design and which campus cafeteria had the best food, but disagreeing with those opinions didn’t mean rejection or punishment or apologies owed in the way Zuko was used to. It just meant a lively discussion, and Sokka rolling his eyes exaggeratedly, and then moving on in life. A novel concept. 

And if there was nothing to disagree on, well, the genuine way Sokka looked on as Zuko spoke was so unfamiliar yet so warm and it made Zuko feel like squirming. During the past few months that they had gotten close, Zuko felt his guard coming down. Not all at once like a house of cards, but slow, like melted ice. 

Zuko’s Shakespearean lit professor had the class act out scenes most sessions. (“Shakespeare is meant to be experienced like _life_ \- all its sights and sounds.” Piandao had said on that first day, “It can get muddled on the page. But it’s a _living_ art work, even if the guy who wrote it is long dead.”) Zuko in no way considered himself a performer, but he couldn’t deny that his professor was right. There was something different about lifting the words from the plays and giving them breath, giving them action. It connected differently. It connected to something deeply human.

“It’s just- I just… You know, it’s stuff like that that makes you realize how universal our emotional experiences are, you know? Like, hundreds of years ago all these actors and audience members and Shakespeare himself had the same feelings of- of loss and love and embarrassment and anger and-and-and all that, and that’s what made it resonate and that’s why we still resonate with it today. Because at the most basic human levels we’re all still exactly the same, no matter how technology and science has evolved around us.”

Sokka, the technology and science guy, smiled. “That’s beautiful.”

Zuko flushed, picking at the grass beside him. “It’s whatever.”

Sokka scoffed.

“What?”

“You’re like- ‘it’s whatever’, it’s not _whatever_ , Zuko, you can’t say this, like, profound human condition shit and then act like it’s _whatever_.”

This was not helping Zuko’s whole blushing situation. “I-I- it’s- okay, fine. Wha-..Fine”

“Yeah, take the fucking compliment, dude. Yeesh.”

“Sorry! Um. Compliment accepted.”

There was a silence as Sokka sighed and shook his head a bit, staring out at the quad with the hint of a smile on his lips. Zuko watched him from the corner of his eye, panicking a bit. Was that not the right thing to say? Was Sokka mad at him now?

But his fears were assuaged a bit as Sokka continued the conversation as if nothing was wrong. “I wish you could talk to like half the STEM department,” he sighed. “That universal emotion shit, it’s so true and half of these developers don’t even consider how their programs will emotionally affect people _today_ , much less decades or centuries down the line.”

“Well, that’s why it’s good they have you.”

Sokka snorted. “Yeah, the token queer, indigenous diversity hire will be the savior of the tech industry,” he deadpanned, rolling his eyes.

“I didn’t me-”

“I know you didn’t,” Sokka reassured him. He worried at his lip a bit before continuing, and god, Zuko loved watching him think. He didn’t know it was possible before Sokka to be enamored with the way someone _thinks_ , but sure as the seasons are changing around them Zuko is entranced by the tiny movement that flickers over Sokka’s face as that bizarrely brilliant brain whirs, like an externalization of pent up brainpower manifesting physically through his features. 

“There’s a saying in Nehiyawak- ‘tante ochi kiya’,” Sokka continued, voice soft, “Separately the words translate roughly to ‘where-from-you’, but it also means ‘belly button’.” Sokka grinned, and Zuko smiled right back automatically. “And it’s like because your belly button is literally how you were connected to your mother, or your biological parent, I guess. And on and on, just a fucking long line of umbilical cords throughout all your ancestors. So the question ‘tante ochi kiya?’ is less about where are you from but actually, like… who are you from?”

“Woah,” Zuko felt a bit wonderstruck, lost in the excited sparkle of Sokka’s eyes.

“Yeah, and then also like, intergenerational storytelling is obviously a big thing in lots of cultures, at least, it is in mine, and like the stories that my grandparents told me were told to them by _their_ grandparents, and maybe one day I’ll tell them to _my_ grandkids, and it’s just _bonkers_ to think about.”

Zuko briefly tried to remember any nice story that his grandfather had told him, but came up blank. His mother had been the storyteller. Maybe he could pass on those stories one day, or pass on his uncle’s advice, if he ever had kids of his own. Sokka would be a great dad one day, seemed to have had an incredible dad himself to model his actions off of. Zuko didn’t think he could be a good parent. That kind of thing required patience and grace. Not high on the list of Zuko’s skill set.

“Yeah. Yeah, we’re all so connected. The world, and-and all of time, it feels so big but also, uh, so...small?” Zuko winced at himself. _Wow, real wise, buddy._

But Sokka barrelled on. “Right? Like it’s all based on...on scale and perspective. Because like, a thousand years ago is only about like… a hundred mothers, give or take with average age factored in. That’s nothing. But on the other hand you think of, like, the statistical improbability of any given event leading up to, like, us being friends for example!” Sokka beamed and continued waving his hands excitedly as he babbled on. “Like, all of the babies and migration and technological advancement and medical advancement and everything that had to happen to lead to the two of us just, like, enjoying this fall afternoon on the quad- it’s _nuts_. Like from a statistics and data perspective it’s-it’s…. Nuts!”

“And like, the evolution of language,” Zuko added on. 

“And the inventors of peanut butter and jelly,” Sokka gestured at the crumbs that were left of their lunch.

“And all the people who built the campus and maintained the grounds and-and came up with higher education as a concept-”

“And everyone who fought to let higher education be for more than just white people.”

“Yeah,” Zuko breathed, Sokka’s rambly excitement as palpable as electricity in the air. These were the best moments, where everything was good and full of wonder and something like hope, something that Zuko could always harvest for later. A flicker of flame he kept close to his chest that he could pull out on the colder days and marvel at its glow. A light that kept him up at night, grinning sappily at the ceiling. A warmth that simultaneously grounded him and made him feel like floating.

“This is why we both had to skip class today,” Sokka mused in a teasingly sage tone. “We’re philosophers now. They’ll memorialize this tree we’re sitting under one day just like the tree where Newton discovered gravity.”

“I don’t think that tree is still around.”

“Is _too_.”

“How would they know which tree-”

“Newton probably _told_ people because it was _important_ and he _remembered_. Are you saying you won’t remember this exact tree where we made such wise proclamations?”

Of course Zuko would remember, he had already memorized the dappled light and the brush of Sokka’s arm and the cadence of his voice, but he couldn’t say all that so instead he said, “We’re really taking after my uncle right now.”

Sokka lit up. “Iroh!! How is that wonderful old man?”

“He’s great,” Zuko said, easy smile settling over his face. “Business at the shop is good.”

“I still owe him a rematch of mahjong.”

Zuko rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to-”

Sokka waved him off. “I want to. Why wouldn’t I want to spend time with the world’s coolest uncle?”

“You cannot tell him that, it will go straight to his head-”

“It’s true, though. I wish he was my uncle too. I should get him a plaque or a ribbon or something.”

“If you did that, he’d put it on the shelf in the front of the store and tell everyone that it was from his new favorite honorary nephew and I’d never hear the end of it.”

“You’re not convincing me this is a bad thing,” Sokka teased. “You’re kind of talking me into it.”

“Shut up.” Zuko shoved playfully at Sokka’s shoulder, grinning. Sokka let himself be pushed, but on the rebound settled more firmly against Zuko’s arm. Zuko had to remind himself of the mechanisms of breathing. _In, out. In, out._

“Anyway, we’re facebook friends now, so I don’t even need to go through you to schedule a time to hang out with him,” Sokka laughed as Zuko groaned and buried his face in his hands. Zuko loved his uncle, but the man could simply be a bit too much sometimes. Especially in front of his friends. Especially in front of Sokka. Especially since, even though Zuko had never really explicitly told his uncle about his feelings for the boy, Iroh had that pesky way of just _knowing_ sometimes.

“If it honestly bothers you, then I won’t-” Sokka started, laughter bubbling down.

“No, no,” It was Zuko’s turn to wave him off. “It’s fine. He just- well, you know how he is. You know he’s gonna make you play board games by his weird rules, and you know he’s gonna tell embarrassing stories about how I acted in high school, and you know he’s gonna force you to try his latest tea blends that he’s working on.” Zuko imitated his uncle, rolling his eyes fondly at the memory of Iroh in the kitchen telling him, “I know that with the combination of aromas, dear nephew, anyone who drinks this is sure to fall madly in love-”

Zuko realized the context of the words the second after they left his mouth, but it was too late. Sokka snapped his head towards Zuko, intrigue bright in his eyes.

When Zuko was eight, he broke his arm falling from a tree. The story the doctors got was that it was an accident, and Zuko’s memory of the event is hazy enough that that might have been true. He and Azula don’t talk enough nowadays for him to seek clarity from her end. All he remembers is arguing while half way up the tree, and then her foot had -kicked back? slipped?- and hit where his knuckles were gripping a branch, and then the next second he was surrounded only by air, arm still stretched up to where it once found purchase. There’s no memory of hitting the ground, just the wide-eyed feeling of free-fall. A sense of betrayal- by his sister? by gravity?- and a sense of impending doom, with no storage in his memory banks of any resolution that followed. Only infinite suspension in time.

There’s a similar feeling rooted in his chest now, as Sokka gleefully asked, “Why is Iroh trying to make _love potion tea_?”

“Uh,” Zuko panicked. “Um, preparation for, uh, Valentines Day sales?”

“It’s _October_.”

“Um.” Zuko said.

“Is Iroh trying to _woo_ someone?”

“No!” Zuko shuddered.

Sokka’s smile only grew. “Is he trying to woo someone _for you_?”

“N-no.” Zuko lied, but he knew his blush was spreading down his neck, damn blood cells betraying him, and Sokka had twisted his whole body to face him now, too close to where Zuko was pressed against the tree. “No, um, it’s, it’s really just, uh, for the store. Never too early to, uh. Start holiday brews?”

“You’re such a bad liar.”

“I’m not! I’m- I’m-” Zuko stammered, thoughts scrabbling at thin air for purchase.

“Why didn’t you _tell_ me you had a crush?” Sokka sounded positively delighted and it wasn’t _fair_. Wasn’t fair that he was so visibly happy at finding this out- if Zuko’s feelings were reciprocated then wouldn’t Sokka look even the slightest bit disappointed at the thought of Zuko crushing on someone else? If this was Shakespeare, Zuko could just confess _it’s you it’s you it’s you_ and then kiss Sokka passionately under this tree until the scene faded to black. That’s not how it works for Zuko, though, that’s never how it’s worked for Zuko, and there’s no reason for him to believe it would start working that way now.

“Who’s the lucky boy?” Sokka beamed bright at Zuko, and Zuko blushed like an idiot and felt a fissure snap in his heart.

“Um, I, uh.”

“Do I know him? Does he work at the tea shop? Wait, every guy at the tea shop is pretty old. Unless you’re into that these days?”

“ _Sokka_ ,” Zuko needed to find the magic remote that would let him pause time in front of him so he could scream into the void for a minute and then take a few deep breaths and then return to this conversation, but getting Sokka to stop rambling for a second so he could at least get his flushed face under control would be an acceptable alternative. “No, it’s nobody at the shop. _Gross_.”

“So you _do_ like someone!” 

This was not the good kind of nervous, the giddy kind of nerves that would thrill through Zuko’s blood stream when he would do something just slightly toeing the boundaries of platonic affection, like draping himself over Sokka’s side on the couch three drinks in at a house party, letting his tipsy state be the alibi if needed for why he leaned in close to giggle into Sokka’s neck, why he shivered as Sokka traced up and down his back with his fingertips. This was a trapped and cornered anxiety, like being called on in class when he hadn’t done the reading the night before, like when Ozai used to catch him in a lie about his whereabouts after school. 

_“It’s you,”_ Zuko imagined himself saying. _“I think I’m in love with you and I’m sorry.”_

The Sokka in Zuko’s imagination looked pained. _“Oh, Zuko. I’m sorry. I just don’t feel the same way. But hopefully we can still be friends.”_

Cut scene in Zuko’s imagination to Sokka laughing with his other friends at Zuko’s audacity, and a weird tension permeating what was once a perfect friendship. No more picturesque fall afternoons with thrown-together picnics and philosophizing under trees. Nope. Not worth the risk.

“Yeah. Um.” Zuko in real life said. “You-you do know him. That’s why I, uh, didn’t want to tell you. Uh, I didn’t want it to be weird.”

Sokka didn’t quite look convinced, but he seemed to pick up on Zuko’s discomfort and didn’t press it, just squeezed Zuko’s knee and sighed as he twisted back to lean his head on Zuko’s shoulder. “Well whoever this mystery man is, I think you should go for it. You’re a catch.”

It was a compliment. But Zuko’s heart was only sinking, plummeting towards unforgiving ground. _Stupid_ , he thought, _stupid stupid stupid_.

The topic didn’t come up again. Thankfully. Or maybe not thankfully, as a nagging voice in the back of Zuko’s head quietly wished for Sokka to bring it up again, to push a little further, to see through Zuko’s half truths and put the puzzle pieces in place. How many times had Zuko imagined Sokka’s eyes lighting up with realization and reciprocation? How many times had he imagined breathless first kisses and giddy confessions, the relief of the surge of emotion that comes with _finally finally finally finally_?

Zuko snapped himself out of it, his face hot at his own daydream, ashamed at even letting himself believe in the possibility of it all for a moment. 

“Do you think everything happens for a reason?” Zuko blurted out.

Sokka blinked a bit, pausing his ramble about something entirely unrelated, and considered. Zuko didn’t miss the way Sokka’s eyes flickered towards the left side of his face. “Scientifically speaking,” he started, slow, careful, “I’d say there’s always an _explanation_ for something that happens. Even if we don’t know quite how or why yet, it doesn’t mean there isn’t one. It just means we don’t have the language or knowledge or evidence to explain it yet.”

Zuko nodded, picking at his sleeves.

Sokka nudged him. “What do the poets think?”

Zuko huffed a laugh. “Very conflicting and bloated things.”

“Checks out,” Sokka grinned. He stretched his arms high above his head. “I do know there’s a reason that the north caf is serving tacos today, and that’s because it is Taco Tuesday.” He beamed as Zuko scoffed. “This was a lovely picnic, but I am also absolutely craving tacos. Will you come with?”

“Yeah.” _Of course. Always._

The wind picked up on their walk back. For someone who had spent the last five or so years living in this area, Zuko probably should’ve been better prepared for the weather, maybe worn a scarf or something. Fall sunshine could be deceiving like this. It had been pretty steadily warm when the two of them were sitting under that tree, and though the logical part of Zuko’s brain knew that it was just as windy under there now, that perfect weather was fickle and fleeting, the illogical part wanted to run back there with Sokka and feel warm again.

He shivered at the sudden gust of wind, rubbing his hands together in an effort to get warm. As soon as his hands dropped back to the side, Sokka’s hand was in his, and Zuko’s heart was in his throat. Sokka didn’t even break his steady chatter about his dad’s job back home, didn’t draw any attention to it, just held Zuko’s cold hand in his warm one like it was nothing. Their fingers were laced together, and it was cliche, but Zuko could swear it was a perfect fit, something like fate, like gravity, like poetry.

And it was poetic irony that Zuko felt a distinct sense of home with Sokka’s fingers intertwined in his, as Sokka waxed on about his hometown, steady and permanent, while Zuko knew the grounded feeling he had now would vanish once Sokka let go, an illusory, spirit like thing. Not something to hold onto forever. 

But for now, Sokka held his hand all the way to the cafeteria, grip never faltering once.

**Author's Note:**

> hi! sorry that my return is this sort of... sad... whatever this is. I just really needed to get it off my chest I think. And hopefully it resonates with you.
> 
> be well x


End file.
